beauty and a beat
by shiksa goddess
Summary: Suddenly, he realizes that seeing her world through a lens might not have been a bad gig, after all. / in which Ally Dawson is a reluctant celebrity and Austin Moon is her photographer. AU Auslly. A bit angsty.


**Title: beauty and a beat **

**Playlist: Beauty and a Beat- Justin Bieber/Nicki Minaj(Jesus what's wrong with me), A Thousand Years- Christina Perri, Industry- Jon McLaughlin, Uncharted- Sara Barellies**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Austin and Ally nor do I own Cold Coffee by Ed Sheeran, from which I stole lyrics. **

He zooms in.

"Okay, Ally. Tilt your head a little to the right for me, okay?"

She does as he says, her heavily-shadowed eyes trailing towards the camera in an attempt to look seductive.

He chuckles. "Okay, less constipated, sultrier."

Had it been anyone else but Austin, she would have thought _how dare you _and her publicist would have intercepted and threatened his career, but this _was_ Austin and he was her friend.

Or as close to a friend as she could get in this business.

.

The problem with being Ally Dawson's main photographer was that he never knew where he stood.

He felt possessive of her sometimes, whenever she had those amateur paparazzi after her every move, feeling like he was the only one allowed to photograph her.

Though, at the same time, he knew she wasn't exclusively his and that he wasn't really her friend, just another person in her entourage.

Sometimes it was hard for him to figure out if he was truly part of her world or if he was just watching through a lens.

.

She supposes she's never been one of those elitist celebrities who believed that everyone who wasn't a celebrity was created for the sole purpose of groveling at their feet or serving their every desire.

Maybe it was because she was still pretty new to this business, or maybe it was just the kind of person she was, but she still felt _normal. _Not that attending Young Hollywood parties and having flashbulbs in her eyes 24/7 was normal, per se, but at her core, she was a normal eighteen year old with insecurities and fears and plans for her future.

It's this mindset, she realizes, that is probably the reason that at every one of these parties, she feels ostracized and somehow still ends up being the wallflower, despite being one of the hottest young singers out there right now.

She takes a sip of her cola, brown eyes searching the room for her manager, who, shamefully, was probably her best friend at this damn party.

As soon as she spots her, she realizes she's drained her cup so she lets the remaining ice sit there and melt against her lips.

Even Layla, a fortysomething with graying hair and a wardrobe full of pantsuits, was on the dance floor, cha-cha slide-ing with Ally's publicist.

Ally rolls her eyes, annoyed by all of the fun everyone was having without her.

"Having fun?" A male voice asks, snapping a picture and blinding her with a flashbulb.

"Ugh!" She groans, blinking rapidly and rubbing her eyes, checking for any major sight damage.

"Was that entirely necessary?"

"Yes." Austin smirks, but he lets go of the camera, leaving it to hang limply around his neck.

"What are you even doing here?"

"Hottest young celebrity party... hottest young celebrity photography prodigy ...connect the dots." He explains, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She rolls her eyes for what must have been the hundredth time since this party started.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say you're _hot._"

"You don't have to say it to believe it." He banters.

She smiles softly and sits back down on one of the benches along the wall.

He seats himself next to her, invading her personal space, but for him, she won't complain.

"Hey, you okay? You seem a little sad." He tells her.

She laughs. "No, no I'm fine. I just don't really fit in here."

"What do you mean? You're a rich and famous performer. They're rich and famous performers. If anyone doesn't fit in here, it's me. I'm basically the glorified paparazzi." He chuckles spitefully, gesturing with his camera.

She cocks an eyebrow. "I thought you were a teenage photography prodigy."

"I am, technically." He laughs. "But some people just don't appreciate talent." He sniffs mockingly.

They both laugh for a moment before he clears his throat. "But no, seriously. You're like the only one of them who actually bothers to talk to me at all."

She gives him a rueful smile. "I guess I've never really been a 'them' anyways."

"But I could say the same for you."

He looks up into her eyes and for once, he doesn't see a girl posing for a camera with a vacant stare, and he doesn't see Ally Dawson, the famous singer with international fame, he just sees Ally, a girl no different than anyone else and he gives her a grin, honestly fighting off his urge to kiss her right then.

She laughs once and breaks their eye contact and takes his hand in her own.

"So thanks."

.

"So we're friends, right?"

.

Somehow, and she honestly has no clue how exactly this happened, she finds a best friend in Austin Moon.

She likes that he is right in limbo between her world and the real world, balancing on the outskirts of fame and fortune but not actually involved in it. It's a very refreshing thing.

But suddenly she's doing things a normal eighteen year old would do, hanging out with her best friend at his house and laughing and whatnot (those are eighteen year old things to do, right? ) and she genuinely just enjoys being around him.

One time, she points out the guitar in the corner of the room and he brushes it off as if it was all insignificant but she presses the issue so he spills.

"Yeah, I uh... I used to play." He smiles sheepishly, picking it up.

"When I was like fourteen or fifteen, I wanted to be a singer. But I tried and failed, so I gave up and started focusing on photography." He divulges, strumming a chord and letting his shaggy blonde hair flop into his eyes.

She gets up from her seat in his blue desk chair and plops herself on the navy bed sheets, adjacent to him.

"Sing me something." She smirks playfully, her eyes sparkling devilishly.

He laughs. "I don't think that'd be a good decision."

She pokes him in the bicep. "Come on. I really want to hear you sing. Please?"

He smiles. "Fine. Just for you and your Ally Dawson charm. Forewarning though, I'm probably a bit rusty."

She grins widely and claps. "Yay!"

He chuckles softly and, after making sure the guitar is in tune, starts to sing.

_"She's like cold coffee in the morning, I'm drunk off last night's whiskey and coke, she'll make me shiver without warning..."_

Somewhere during the song, she'd inched closer and closer, until their kneecaps touched.

He looked up slowly to meet a pair of shimmering brown eyes.

"Austin?" She whispered cautiously.

"Yeah."

They breathed in tandem for a second, volts of electricity slicing through the air.

"Kiss me." She demanded.

And, as he was contractually obligated, he obeyed.

.

Being Ally Dawson's boyfriend, he learns quickly, is even more complicated than being her photographer.

He's dragged alongside her to every event and party and is met with fake tans and fake people and while he's been to quite a few of these things before, it all feels new (and that's not particularly a good thing) and being on the inside is a lot different from being on the outskirts.

Suddenly, he realizes that seeing her world through a lens might not have been a bad gig, after all.

But maybe they could be happy in this world. After all, it looked pretty normal, if you zoomed out enough.

.

"I love you." She whispers one night, at the Grammys after party.

What she does expect (or at least hopes for) is his "I love you too" in response.

What she does not expect is their conversation splayed out on the cover of People the next week.

It's official, she hates this world.

.

"You knew what you were getting into the moment you signed the recording contract, Allyson." Layla explained dryly.

Ally threw her hands up in the air frustratedly. "No, I didn't! I was seventeen! And now I'm eighteen and I still don't know what the hell I'm doing." She sighed and ran her hands through her hair.

"I mean I guess I had an _idea, _but I didn't know how far it would go! It's just... I always wanted to be a _singer, _Layla. Not necessarily a celebrity... I mean that's just not what I'm about at all! I guess I'm just not used to having people document all of mine and my boyfriend's intimate moments..." She trailed off.

Layla pursed her wine-colored lips. "Well, maybe it's a sign."

Ally cocked her head to the side. "And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Layla sighed and tucked a piece of her straight graying-blonde hair behind her ear.

"Well you know I've never really approved of you and Austin being together."

"And why is that?"

"Because... you're like Hollywood royalty and he's like a Hollywood peasant."

"He's a photographer!"

"Yes... I know." Layla snarled in disgust. "I just think you need to be a little more concerned about your reputation here, Allyson."

"I- I what? You're telling me I should pick my boyfriends based off of popularity? Layla, ninety-nine percent of these performer guys are assholes!"

"Then maybe you need to be looking in the one percent."

"I have! And I found Austin! He's not a 'peasant', you know? He's a teenage photography prodigy!"

Layla scoffed. "And who cares about _that?"_

"Me!? Austin!? You?! You're the one who hired him in the first place!"

Layla laughed. "Ally, honey, I think you need to go home and have some nice calming chamomile tea and we can revisit this in the morning, alright?" She chided, as if Ally were six and not eighteen.

Ally rolled her eyes. "Fine."

As soon as she was outside the office and in the car, she dialed Austin.

To hell with management.

.

She dragged Austin into Layla's office the next morning and stood at her desk silently, raising their interwoven hands for her and all the rest of the world to see.

Layla narrowed her ice-blue eyes, but uttered a single word.

"Fine."

Ally grinned and took it as a victory.

.

She paraded into his room one day with a cherry-red lipsticked smile and a folder of sheet music. He dropped his guitar off his lap in fright.

"Ally!" He squeaked. "I wasn't, like, playing or anything." He bluffed, kicking the guitar under his bed.

She smiled ruefully. "You better pick that back up, 'cause guess who's doing a duet with me?"

"John Mayer?" He guessed hopefully.

She cocked an eyebrow in confusion. "Uh, no, it's you. I wrote a duet for us."

"What? But I can't sing."

She gives him a pointed look and he sighs. "Okay, I _don't _sing."

Her face fell. "But Austin, you're really good! And I can't think of anyone else I'd rather do it with." She smiled sweetly, hope and sincerity pooling in her big brown eyes.

He picked his guitar up from the floor and placed it on his bedspread. "I'm sorry, Ally, but I don't want to be a singer anymore."

She grabbed his forearm. "I don't want you to, either. I love you being my photographer. But you're so talented, Austin. Please?"

He relented. "Fine. One song."

"Yay!" She yelled and wrapped him in a hug.

He smiled, but all he could think about was how far into this world he was really going to let himself go.

.

He does the song with her, and it sounds pretty damn good if they do say so themselves.

Apparently others are saying it too, considering its number one on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.

It stays there for two months straight.

.

"Alls, you know you're beautiful from any angle, but tilt your chin up a bit for me?" He smiled.

She's supposed to have a solemn expression on her face for this shoot, which is for her new album cover, but with Austin around, it was hard not to smile.

He snapped a couple more photos of her, and reviewing his work, he let out a low whistle.

"Wow, Ally. You look flawless."

She walked over from the beach set to where he's standing and rested her head against his chest to look at the camera.

She grinned. The photos _do _look pretty good.

"We make a good team, don't we?"

He turned to kiss her but a male voice interrupts.

"Excuse me?"

Austin shook his head. "This is a closed set-"

"No, no, it's okay!" Ally interjected. "It's just Jimmy."

She ran over and enveloped the tall man in a hug, and he smiled. "Hey, Ally. How's my favorite songstress?"

She giggled. "I'm good! So what are you doing here?"

"Um, actually, I'm here to talk to Austin."

Austin looked up from his camera. "Me?" He squeaked.

Jimmy nodded. "Yes, you. I want to sign you."

Ally's eyes widened with excitement, but Austin's widened with fear.

"You want to sign me?" He repeated meekly.

Jimmy nodded.

"Oh my gosh, yay!" Ally exclaimed, throwing her arms around her boyfriend.

"Wait, but, Ally. I'm your photographer! I love being your photographer! I don't even want to be a singer."

She looked at him skeptically.

"Okay so maybe I do want to be a singer. But I also love being a photographer. Especially," He paused to take her hands in his. "Your photographer."

"But Austin, this is an _amazing _opportunity. You can't not take it. Besides, then we'll be signed to the same label!"

"But what about being your photographer?" He asked weakly.

"I'll get a new one!" She said enthusiastically.

"Wow, glad to know I'm so easily replaceable." He teased.

She punched him lightly on the arm. "You know what I mean. Besides, maybe Layla will finally get off my case about dumping you for some Hollywood bastard."

"So I'll just become a Hollywood bastard?"

"Yes." She smirked. "But you'd be _my _bastard."

"I'll do it." He smiled at Jimmy before taking Ally into his arms and kissing her softly.

.

She quickly realized that one of the best parts of dating photographer Austin was that there was still a clear division between her Hollywood world and her real world.

But now Austin was on the Hollywood side.

And these lines were becoming _very _blurry.

.

The first thing he noticed at his first big Hollywood party (as a real guest, of course. It's his first album premiere party.) is how right Ally was. This Hollywood life was a lot different when you zoomed in.

The people here are fake fake fake with laser-whitened smiles and augmented breasts and it's all positively ridiculous, but unlike Ally the Wallflower, he found himself "fitting in" with these people, God knew why.

"What the hell was that?" Ally asked demandingly the next morning.

His head throbbed. "What?"

"You danced with all of them, and drank with all of them, and generally just spent all of your time with everyone _but me." _She said through clenched teeth, angry tears welling up in her eyes.

"Ally, I'm sorry!" He yelled louder than he intended, causing his headache to flare up even worse.

"No, it's okay!" She smiled with fake sweetness and he felt his stomach sink in fear of the worst case scenario. "But we're done."

She stormed out of the room and he'd try to stop her, but his brain is truly a jumbled mess right now and he doesn't know how to control his limbs right then.

Maybe he hadn't belonged in her world, anyways.

.

For some reason, he bought an issue of _Seventeen _that just so happens to have a certain Ally Dawson on the cover.

Her spread was beautiful, and it proved to him that she'd never really needed him, and that stung.

But it stung even more to think that at some point, she'd kept him for the sole reason that she wanted him to, and he'd driven her to letting him go.

And there it was- the classic division. It didn't matter how famous he was, she would always have power over him.

Because she was the model and he was the photographer and he was always only supposed to see her world through a lens.

He never should've crossed that line.

.

Her new single dropped six months after their breakup, titled _You Don't See Me. _Her music seems to be getting more and more...sad.

He wondered if it's because of him.

But then he stopped, because that's too egotistical.

.

"So, any _special girl _in your life right now?" The reporter asks enthusiastically, turning to wink at the camera slyly.

He chuckled. "Actually, I'm still in love with my ex, Ally Dawson." He admitted casually.

It was true; therefore he didn't care if anyone knew. Besides, his love for Ally was too _real _for any of these artificial people to understand.

The reporter's eyes widened. She hadn't actually expected to get a story.

He nodded at her and walked off, wondering if Ally had seen.

As a matter of fact, she had. She'd been standing behind him, getting her picture taken the whole time. The shocked expression on her face was probably documented on camera (after all, the rest of her life is).

But she won't call, or text, or go after him, because in this world, there are no happy endings.

.

At the next Young Hollywood party (his second, her third), he cautiously asked her to dance and she reluctantly said yes.

"I'll have you know right now that I suck as a dancer so badly it's not even funny."

He laughed. "And I'll have you know that I don't give a shit."

She gripped his hand loosely and half-dragged her feet on the ground and generally just did things that she thought would turn him away.

"Why do you even want me? I'm not like any of these people." She asked, nodding at all the A-list superficiality twirling around them on the dance floor.

"That's exactly why. I love you for you, Ally, and you're the only one of these people that would ever even let me see who you are. You are the only one of these people that didn't make me feel like shit or treat me like the dirt under your feet when I was a photographer!"

"God, why does everyone make it seem like being a photographer is some sort of peasantry! It's a wonderful job!"

"See?! This is why I love you."

She frowned, looking up at the paper lanterns here and there around the ceiling. "You know, I don't know why we're invited to these Young Hollywood things anymore. We're nearly twenty-one."

He laughed loudly. "Yes, because pretty soon we're going to be all wrinkled and gray and living in rest homes."

She sighed. "What a nice life that'll be." She said wistfully.

"Ally, we have _years _of life still left to go before we're elderly. Can't you just enjoy them as they go?"

Again, she sighed. "I guess you're right."

"Can you just try to enjoy _this? _"He smirked, capturing his lips in her own.

They heard the unmistakable sound of camera shutters clicking nearby, but for once, they didn't care what was happening in this world, as they were in their own.

.

It was the day before their wedding, but clearly the universe did not want them to be happy.

He stared blankly as they loaded her into the ambulance, as they tried to resuscitate her. It was all useless. He'd seen the bullet hit her. It was a miracle her heart was even still beating at all. He certainly wasn't a doctor, but even he knew- she was gone.

He grabbed her hand limply, hoping for some miracle in which true love prevailed and brought her back to health.

It didn't hurt to try.

Her eyes were screwed shut tightly and he was nearly tempted to put his head to her bloody chest, just to hear her heart beat a few more times, feel her being alive.

The paramedics continued doing all they could, valiant in their efforts. He admired their determination.

_Goodbye, Ally. _He thought helplessly.

Maybe she hadn't belonged in this world, after all.

He zooms out.

.

Fin

**A/N: Oh gosh, I don't know what this is.  
I have a few notes for this:  
1) I guess it seemed like Ally really died but in a way I was trying to leave it ambiguous enough so that you could kind of hope for the best, y'know?  
2) This is sort of reminiscent of my Victorious stories and for that I apologize.  
3) Being that this is AU, I sort of based these Austin and Ally off of Ross and Laura themselves, but turns out they're so similar to their characters that those lines got really blurry  
4) I've no clue if there really are "photography prodigies" but I know there are some teenage professional photographers and I needed an excuse for him to be an eighteen year old photographer so whatevs.  
5) SIDE NOTE THERE'S A NOVEL THAT HAS A SIMILAR PLOTLINE (vaguely) TO THIS AND IT'S CALLED "Shooting Stars" by Allison Rushby and omg, I just read it (two months after publishing this whoops) and it's perf  
****6) I hope you at least enjoyed it a little bit! :)****  
**


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